Page 28

A maid approached the table to collect Lady Hargrave’s afternoon tea. “Is this ready, Miss Thyri?” she asked with a polite nod.

Thyri glanced at the tray of cups and teapot, giving a quick nod. “All set, Margit. Take it up while it’s still hot.”

Margit smiled, deftly gathering the tea service before slipping toward the door.

Thyri stood up, smoothing down her apron. “Well, I'd better get back to work before Lady Hargrave starts wondering why her kitchen smells like gossip instead of tonight's roast.”

I laughed, rising from my seat. “And I should head out. Vorgath let me leave early today, so I thought I'd surprise Elias by picking him up from school.”

“Oh, he'll love that,” Thyri said warmly. “Give that little rascal a hug from me, will you?”

“Of course,” I replied, reaching for the spoon to tuck it safely away. My hand met empty air. Frowning, I glanced around the table. “Do you have the spoon?”

Thyri's brow furrowed. “No, I thought you had it last.”

We both started searching the immediate area, checking under napkins and between plates. The spoon was nowhere to be found.

“That's odd,” I muttered, a twinge of worry creeping into my voice. “I could have sworn I put it right here.”

Thyri placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “It's a busy kitchen—things get moved about all the time. I'll keep an eye out for it and bring it round to you when I find it.”

“Thanks, Thyri,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “I appreciate it.”

“Now, off you go,” Thyri said, gently steering me toward the door. “You don't want to be late for Elias.”

As I stepped out of Lady Hargrave’s kitchen and into the bustling streets of Everwood, a crisp breeze tugged at my cloak, carrying the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed wood. The murmur of nearby vendors haggling over produce mixed with the soft clatter of a horse-drawn cart passing by. Overhead, birds flitted between the rooftops, their songs momentarily drowned out by the call of a street performer drawing a small crowd.

My mind drifted back to the forge, and as I walked, I wondered how the swords were coming along. The image of Vorgath, brow furrowed in concentration as he shaped metal with his powerful hammer, sent a flutter through my stomach. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts, but then Thyri's teasing words echoed in my ears, and I couldn't help but smile.

That small moment of peace shattered when a familiar voice cut through the noise of the street. “Well, if it isn't the orc's pet project.”

I turned to face the speaker, my good mood evaporating. It was Tom, Thorne’s cocky apprentice, leaning against the wall of the nearby smithy.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Tom pushed off the wall, swaggering over to block my path. “I heard you've been playing blacksmith with that orc. Tell me, does he let you hold the hammer, or are you just there to look pretty?”

Heat rushed to my face, but I kept my expression neutral. “I'm an apprentice, learning the craft like anyone else.”

“An apprentice?” Tom snorted, folding his arms. “Seems to me you're just another lonely widow looking for someone to stoke your fire.”

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You don't know anything about me or my work.”

“Work?” he scoffed. “What work could a woman possibly do in a forge? Polishing the anvil, perhaps?”

I felt a retort rising in my throat but swallowed it down. Tom wasn’t worth it. He was a child trying to get a reaction. “If you'll excuse me,” I said coldly, stepping around him, “I have somewhere to be.”

As I turned to walk away, the apprentice's mocking voice called after me. “You know, Master Ironsmith’s been keeping an eye on that little operation of yours. He's not too pleased with how things are progressing.”

I glanced back, catching the smug look on the apprentice's face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Just that some people in this town take their craft seriously. They don't appreciate outsiders mucking things up.”

“If Thorne has a problem with my work, he can speak to me directly,” I said, my voice even.

“Oh, I'm sure he will. Sooner or later.”

I quickened my pace, feeling the anger simmering under my skin as I put distance between myself and Tom. But his words echoed in my mind, stirring up the unease I’d felt a few days ago when I’d seen Thorne outside the tavern. The look in his eyes had unsettled me then, and now, Tom’s taunts only deepened my suspicion.